The Postman's Package

Alright so here’s the deal. Running fashionably late I managed to wrap up the design for “The Misadventures of Rugged Fox” 2010 Calendar just before Christmas. (I tried changing the start date for the Calendar to February 1st but apparently that was “not allowed.”) Anyways, fearing the printed version may cut off any part of my beautiful face, I ordered a copy for myself before putting it up for sale.

This morning when I woke up I poured myself a cup of coffee, watched the latest episode of The Good Wife (love that show!) and then thought to myself “where the heck is my calendar?” Literally, one second later (I wish I was making this s*it up folks) there was a knock at the door.

Dressed in my pajamas the shirt of which was on inside out, I thought “Oh Gosh, here we go again.” Drifting over to the door, I opened it up to find Il Postino on the other side.

(I really wish at this moment I had any other “love department” update to write you but unfortunately this is it. The only blast from the past I can give an honorable mention to is the fact that I had to serve Matthew (the boy who stood-me up) at the restaurant on New Year’s Eve. In reference to that uncomfortable experience all I can say is this: one should never have to serve diet coke refills to men who have taken a chip off their heart. End of story. )

So I open up the door and with a big smile on his face, The Postman says, “Hello Fox. Happy New Year!”

Taken aback by the fact that we were already on a first name basis after six months, it occurred to me that he knows a lot more about me than I do him. Not only does he know my name, he knows where I live, what magazines I subscribe to, and what I look like before I apply my face.

My breath coffee-stained, I replied to him with my right hand positioned strategically over my mouth, “Happy New Year to you too!”

Passing me the package, I thought, Oh my god if only you knew what was inside this box, and debated passing it back to him. However, then it occurred to that giving him a Calendar of myself before the first date might be a bit much, so I decided to keep it.

Wishing me a great afternoon, he turned to head back to the elevator and then I did what I have never done before: went after him.

Stepping out into the hallway wearing my mama-bought flannel bottoms, I stopped him just after he had pressed the elevator button and said, “I don’t even know your name.” I swear I was this close to reprising my still-talked-about-high-school-role as Marius Pontmercy in the 2002 St. Mary’s Academy production of Les Miserables and breaking out into “A Heart Full of Love.” Fortunately I didn’t.

“Dylan” he replied, returning to shake my hand as the elevator door opened behind him. His grip was firm and tight, while mine was flexible and submissive.

The elevator door just beginning to shut, he broke his grasp and stopped the door just before it closed. Stepping inside, he stuck his head back out just before it closed again and said “I think you are adorable.” And then the door shut.

Bouncing up and down like Laura Linney in Love Actually I decided I was not going to let my mentally deranged brother come between us. So it is official. The next time I report back to you on Il Postino it will be in regards to our first date. No more lying down and rolling over for Rugged Fox. Is it time I start taking a hint from the cream I spread all over my face day and night and be Proactive. I am thinking of leaving him a note in my mailbox with my phone number and an invite for drinks: what are your thoughts?

As far as future posts are concerned, here is what you can expect in the coming weeks!